Outcasts
by Fangirl9001
Summary: Erik's childhood was spent traveling, exhibited as a freak. One week in Paris, and a little gypsy girl, changed everything.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This takes place several years (I'd say ten, twelve) before either story, so yes, everyone (save for a few) are going to be kids, though I'm planning to create a sequel to this later, depending on whether or not people like this. I tried blending the book and musical universes of both PotO and HoND, so this'll contain random elements of both. Enjoy, and please leave a review, a comment, good or bad, I love them. Thanks.  
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"But momma, I want to get a good look-"

"Hush, girl. You don't."

The Court of Miracles was where the blind could see, where the crippled could walk, where the gypsy people and the criminal scum of Paris dwelled, sometimes one and the same. It was thus often the site of the exotic and bizarre. This night, however, was special even for its residents. A massive crowd had gathered at the very heart of the court for a new—_exhibition,_ for want of a better word. It seemed as though a roving band of gypsies had wandered into town just after a festival, and with them they brought…something. Being a child at the outer frays of the crowd and held back by her mother, Esmeralda hadn't a clue what it was.

Whatever it was, the little gypsy thought, everyone found it quite awful. The jeering, half-drunken crowd kept yelling, in a dozen different languages, "It's hideous! It's disgusting! It's a devil!" And yet, the thing's masters were livid in spite of the attention they were getting. Esmeralda couldn't hear what the masters were saying, but over the crowd she could hear the rabid screams of something that couldn't be human. The shrieks and growls were interrupted often by the piercing _crack _of a whip. Esmeralda had never been a squeamish girl, and she was awfully curious and struggling to look at _Le Mort Vivant_, the name given to the thing. She'd picked up enough French to know exactly what that meant, making it all the more intriguing.

"Mom, look, it's all shackled up. It can't hurt me!" the child pleaded. Her mother, a dark and willowy young fortune-teller, gave a skeptical look and did not release the grip she kept on her only daughter's shoulders.

"You're seven. Plenty of things can hurt you, Esmeralda. Get back inside the house before you get nightmares."

The child wouldn't obey. "I'm-going-to see it!" She wrenched away from her mother and wriggled and shoved her way into the crowd. The cries all around her were deafening, but she had always been used to such things. Using her small size to crawl around and beneath everyone, she met this _Mort Vivant_ face-to-face at long last.

She screamed. Shackled and chained, there in the street, stood what must have been a skeleton. Though its height suggested that it was only perhaps a few years older than Esmeralda, it could not have been a child. Its skin was a sick yellow parchment color, and two sunken eyes rolled wildly around as an oddly-shaped, snaggle-toothed mouth screamed. Worse was the thing's nose-only a triangular hole in its ghastly skull. Esmeralda turned and shoved her way back to her mother, shaking and crying, back to the tiny cottage that was her home.

"It's awful, momma..." she wept into her mother's skirts. The woman only sighed and led her daughter back inside.

"I told you so, sweetheart." The slight woman showed exceptional strength as she shoved several other people out of the way as they stood near her doorway. "You know, I was hoping you'd go all week without seeing him."

As they headed into their humble home, the crowd began to dissipate, and the girl looked up in terror.

"It's staying? For a week?" she cried.

"Yes, Esmeralda. The inn's full, so those…_scum _found a room nearby. In fact, I think they'll be staying just next door." 


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: I've got quite a bit of this written in advance, so I'll be able to update relatively quickly. Thanks for the comments I've gotten already. More's coming along soon, and the levels of excitement are (I hope) only going to go up as the story goes on. Enjoy.

Esmeralda wasn't sure how she was able to sleep that night. The howls of that creature went on and on, for hours, keeping her tossing and turning until the dawn.

The next day she awoke tired, groggy, and still terrified. Mornings in the Court of Miracles were rarely predictable; this morning, her mother swept happily from her bedroom, and behind her Esmeralda could hear Ciro. In her naive mind, this man must've been her mother's best friend, considering how often he slept over. He wasn't papa, but he was kind and acted like how she supposed fathers should. This morning, he and her mother were quietly arguing as they got breakfast ready.

"It isn't right, Ciro. That boy's suffering, I know he's a fright, but-"

"But there's nothing we can do, Sasha, I don't want to get those people angry. They're...they're not quite right." Ciro glanced up as Esmeralda yawned and made her way to the table. "Morning, _princessa_," he said absently before looking up at her mother. "We don't know what they're capable of and I'm not putting any of us in danger by getting involved."

"Momma, is the Mort Vivant still out there?" Esmeralda asked, still a bit traumatized from the previous night. Sasha sighed and, placing a stack of wooden dishes on the roughly-cut table, knelt down to face her daughter.

"He is. But there's no need to be afraid of him, Esmeralda. He's only a boy. He's a child, like you," she said gently.

The girl begged to differ. "You didn't see him, mom," she pouted. "He was just like...like a skull. Or a dead person, only he was moving, and screaming, and-" she shuddered and fell silent.

Sasha sighed and shook her head. "He's frightened, probably more scared of you than you are of him. It isn't fault that God made him...different." The girl was skeptical, but the table was set, the simple breakfast laid out, and they began to eat quietly.

"Your mother's right. No need to be scared of a little boy. You're not afraid of that kid up in Notre Dame cathedral, right? That kid's worse-looking, I think," Ciro commented.

Esmeralda paused. "You're right!" Ciro laughed and reached over to tousle her hair; she hopped down from the table without a word and dashed outside, leaving him and Sasha quite bewildered.

The thing-no, the _boy,_ Esmeralda reminded herself-was locked inside an iron cage behind the small and simple wooden cottage next door. At the moment, he was fast asleep; curled up like an animal. His narrow, gaunt face was pressed into his arms.

"...Hello?" she called. She regretted this seconds later, as the boy awoke, scrambled to his feet in the little cage, and began screaming at her in a vast myriad of languages. She was familiar with choice phrases from a few, and could only decipher the basic ideas of what the boy was shouting at the very top of his lungs.

"Stay away! Leave! I've had more than enough of all of you. I know why you're here, tramp. Come to gawk at me? To stare? Come closer, then! Come gaze at the monster! Little gypsy _rat_!"

"I...I only wanted-"

"You only want a better look," he hissed.

"No!" the girl cried, taking sudden, shaky, yet determined steps toward the cage. The bars were spaced just enough for the boy to reach a scrawny hand through, so Esmeralda stayed just out of reach.

"I didn't, really. I just want to talk to you, uh-what's your name?" she squeaked, afraid to look into the deathly face but steeling herself to do it anyway. _He's like me, _she recalled her mother's words. _Just like me. He's just like me...just, without a nose._

"I haven't got a name," snapped the boy.

"Don't be silly. Everyone has a name. Didn't you have a mother to name you?"

"Of course I did." The last thing he needed these superstitious freaks to think was that he'd actually been born in hell. "But..." he trailed off and was silent for a long time.

"Is she dead?" prompted Esmeralda, still not fully practiced in the art of tact.

"Yes. No. I...I ran away from home. I haven't seen her in a long time," he finally answered. His voice, which had softened for just a second, quickly became snippy again. "Why do _you _want to know?"

She shrugged. "You have a mother. Didn't she give you a name?"

"Erik," he finally said. There wasn't any harm in revealing it to her. She seemed satisfied and went on, even venturing to carefully sit cross-legged on the ground near the cage, within arm's reach of the bars. Erik, still wary of her and a bit perplexed, sat down on the cage floor as well. No one had ever been this comfortable around him before. Eyes glued to the dirty floor, he glanced upward briefly into the glistening green eyes of the little girl daring to sit so close, unflinching, unblinking. Without a hint of a jeer or a taunt or morbid fascination. He still couldn't quite believe she was acting out of genuine compassion and thusly figured that she was a brilliant actress. Still—what did she want? What could he give her? The very last possibility that occurred to him was that, maybe, she would become a friend.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Thanks for the comments. Here's chapter 3.

Three days had passed since Esmeralda had approached Erik, and the two of them had grown, if not friendship, a certain degree of trust. She was the only one Erik wouldn't attack if they were within arm's reach, and he became something of a confidante to her. Every mealtime she would sneak him scraps of whatever food she had, happily chattering about the goings-on in her life while he wolfed down every bite of what were often the only meals he'd get.

"No one's ever really done this for me before," Erik said through a mouthful of bread. It was noon around the fourth day, and it had quite suddenly occurred to him that he should thank this odd little gypsy girl. "I, uh...I really appreciate it."

She had been telling him about her day. "So then I-wait, what? Oh, right..." Esmeralda raised her thick eyebrows and grinned. "It's no trouble. My mom and I do stuff like this all the time."

"Hmm? What do you mean, 'stuff like this'?" he asked, amused. "You just run around the town feeding people?"

She giggled and waved her hand. "Of course not. We only try helping 'the less fortunate', my mom calls them. Beggars. Sick people. Quasimodo."

"Quasi-_what_?"

"Modo," she corrected, leaning toward her literally captive audience. "He's a deformed boy, a bell-ringer. He lives up in the cathedral and...well, I shouldn't say it, but..."

"What is it?" the boy demanded. She looked at her feet and sighed.

"He's worse off than you. Uglier, I mean," she hastily added as Erik gave a disbelieving look at the cage he was in. "They call him the hunchback of Notre Dame-that's the name of the church, the big one, right in the middle of the city. You've seen it, right?"

"No," Erik admitted. "But-that other boy. The hunchback. What's he like?"

"Him? Well..." a slight uncomfortable wriggle gave away her disgust. "He...he has red hair. That's a bad sign, granma used to say. And...he's kind of stooped over and twisted, and he's deaf. I think he's around your age, too, ten or eleven."

"And he lives in Notre Dame, so he's an orphan."

"He was adopted by an old man as a baby, I know that...I think the man's a priest, or maybe a judge or someone really important. I'm not sure. Either way, he wears lots of black all the time, and mom doesn't like being around him..." Erik hadn't a clue why she seemed so uncomfortable, writhing and fidgeting at the mere memories of them. Finally, she glanced dramatically over her shoulder before leaning close and beckoning Erik to do the same. He did, and she whispered into his ragged ear.

"_And I think Quasimodo likes me_."

For the first time in years Erik came close to actually laughing. Managing an amused smile, he turned to her to see shock become anger.

"It's not funny! He scares me a little sometimes." And anger became worry. "The bells up in the towers? They're _huge. _They probably weigh a ton. And he can ring them. I really don't want to make him mad, Erik, he could probably snap me in half!"

"But he _won't_!" scoffed the boy. "Trust me, he won't. Quasimodo likes you. And…" he trailed off, deep in thought, before finally murmuring, "…you could probably use that to your advantage."

"Use what?"

Erik sighed and rolled his eyes. "You're a girl. A nice-looking one, at that. And don't _blush, _it's an observation. You have a sort of…_power_ over boys and I figure that you always will. So, I think you should use it." He spoke with the air of someone under the impression that he knows everything, and Esmeralda evidently believed this.

"...Really? Isn't that a little mean?"

"You don't get it, gypsy-"

"My name's not gypsy!" she interrupted shrilly. "I hate being called just _gypsy_. Call me anything else."

Erik shrugged "Okay, fine. But you still don't get it. Sure it's mean. It's cruel. So is the world."  
*******

Esmeralda had left, deep in thought. It was that very night when Erik's masters remembered him, and sent an unfortunate lackey to his cage with a few scraps of food.

"Here, kid," the young man grunted as he shoved whatever he could between the bars. Erik picked at it but showed more interest in the feeder. Before the man could turn to leave a bony arm jutted out from the cage and grabbed for his collar. The flimsy hand tugged with all its strength, a sudden burst of power turning him to face the cage.

"Shut up and listen. You're setting me free _tonight,_" Erik hissed. The man rolled his eyes and wheezed out a laugh, pulling away from the weak, skeletal child with a minimum of effort.

"That make sense up on that ugly little head of yours, eh? And jus' tell me why we'd let ya go? We need freaks like you. You're our biggest moneymaker."

Erik gave a wicked yellow grin up at the man. "Not for long."


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: So sorry for the epic delay. Acting up computer, general annoying-ness…At least writing stuff like this can be a big stress-reliever. Enjoy!

"Good morning, Erik!" chirped the gypsy. The next cloudy, foggy morning did nothing to dampen Esmeralda's spirit. She trampled barefoot through the muddy ground to the cage, breakfast at hand.

"You're late." Erik's tone wasn't accusatory or impatient; there was a note of concern in it that even he did not expect to hear. "Did anything interesting happen?"

"Mom took me to Notre Dame again." she tossed him a fresh, buttered biscuit.

With a strange pang-guilt, perhaps?-Erik made an attempt to stay completely nonchalant. "Did she?" he asked calmly. "And you saw…um…what was his name again?" Erik trailed off. He knew the name, but he also knew he needed to be careful.

"Quasimodo. I know, it's long. I couldn't remember it either. We brought him something, and we met that creepy guy again. I found out, too, he's a judge. And Quasimodo calls him 'master'. Isn't that weird? Wouldn't he be more like a stepfather or something?"

"Master…" Erik repeated to himself. "Master. And what's his actual name?"

"Frollo. But my mom keeps calling him by his first name, Claude. He acts so…strange around her. He usually ignores me, but still, I don't like him. I'm not sure if anyone really does."

"You say he's...creepy?" Erik mused. "What's he like?"

"Well, he's really tall. And old and wrinkly. He sounds kind of mean, no matter _what _he's talking about, but.." She rocked back and forth a bit, giggling inexplicably. "He has a really funny-looking hat."

"…Okaay, and-"

"Erik?" she softly interrupted. "I'm wondering. Just why do you want to know all this?" Sensing the suspicion in her voice, he panicked and began quickly, evasively mumbling. But the girl's eyes suddenly widened and her mouth fell into a perfect O; Erik stopped short.

"I get it! I get it, Erik, I know, you want out of here! _You _want to know if Frollo would adopt you too, don't you!" She flashed a knowing, triumphant smile.

"Well.." Erik stammered. "Not exac-"

"Ooh! I know! I can help! I could bust you out of here!" she bounced excitedly and leaned close into the bars. "Erik, don't you want to be free?"

"More than anything, but-" 

Erik saw her face fall into an anguished, urgent look. "Well, let's do it then! We could come up with some plan to get you out and my mom could hide you, Erik, no one deserves to be all locked up like this!"

"I know, but just..I can't. Really. I'll be leaving in a day or two, and.." he trailed off. Why was he this upset?

"Then _tonight_! I can get Ciro, or my mom, or someone, and we can break the lock and-"

"STOP IT!" Erik roared. Esmeralda indeed stopped short. The sudden cry left her in a stunned silence and she backed away, a tightening sort of fear in her stomach. It seemed as though Erik had disappeared. It seemed as though her friend had become, once again, the _Mort Vivant; _a screaming skull, and she ran.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Thanks for the comments I've been getting. No, this isn't deadfic! I promise I'll try writing more. This story's actually quite a bit of fun.

Esmeralda had left and did not return. The day wore on and, though Erik couldn't see her, to him she just became another jeering face in the crowd. He didn't mourn her; he'd learned not to become easily attached to anything.

One of Erik's handlers (owners, he thought bitterly) approached him late that night. "Arright, we're closing up tonight an' _you_...you better not be lying about that quasi-boy."

"Would I ever _dream_ of lying to_ you_?" Erik replied in a voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Shut up. So 'e's up in the cathedral, eh? You don't know if his keeper would be willin' to part with him, or are we gunna have to..."

"I doubt he'd sell a child to a traveling freakshow," Erik snapped. "Yes, you're '_gunna have to_'." he wouldn't meet the man's eyes.

"Very well." he turned to leave but Erik quickly called him back.

"Well, wait a minute! You aren't letting me go?" he asked. He felt his anger flare up, intense and volatile once he saw his keeper's very telling smirk. "We had a deal! Me for him!"

"_He _ ain't here yet, is he?"

Erik pounded and shook the cage's bars. "You said once you went to fetch him I was _free_! You promised! Let me go!"

"Did I say that?" the man wondered aloud. "I see..well. I guess that must mean..." he leaned towards the cage and his hand fell to his belt, where a ring of rusty keys hung. "I lied."

"AAARGH!" In a wild frenzy Erik shook and kicked and clawed at the bars around him. The man only walked away, laughing.

It was nearly midnight near Notre Dame, and two shadowy figures were approaching the cathedral. One, walking quickly, was Erik's keeper. The other, taking soft, careful steps, was a small gypsy girl sneaking out far past her bedtime.

He entered first and their paths did not cross. Esmeralda, tired, weary, and frightened out of her wits, looked around nervously at the magnificent hall and tried to search around for a warm spot to curl up in. She spotted the massive pillars and sat down in its shadow, hidden away from the flickering candlelight. She lay against it, pressing her knees to her chest, shutting her eyes, and sighing.

It suddenly felt as though she'd been kicked, but the alarmed yelp and thud told Esmeralda she'd tripped someone. She quickly got to her feet, then suppressed a gasp as the black robed figure stood himself, towering over her and glaring so fiercely she pressed herself flat against the pillar.

"What on Earth are you doing here, gypsy?" Judge Frollo snarled down at her. Shuddering, she curtsied and looked back up at him with wide, frightened eyes.

"I- I couldn't sleep, sir, there was this awful...scream, right near my window, a-and..and mum told me I could _always _go here if I felt afraid-" In truth, she was even more afraid now, and broke down in tears before Frollo could bark at her to stop.

He stared at her with a vague look of disgust. "Be out of here by morning, or I'll have you hanged just like your father."

Not questioning how he'd known her father, she nodded and stayed pressed to the pillar. The judge seemed to glide away, and she sank back to the floor. She tried to sleep, but the hard stone made for a poor bed. The whispers that began moments later, sounding more like angry hissing, startled her again, and she shrank against the pillar again as if trying to melt into it. Still, the voices formed words, and Esmeralda could not help but overhear.

"Shut up and _listen_," went one voice, a man's, familiar. The judge? "Unless you want the damn archdeacon to catch the both of us. _I'm _leaving. _You_ take the boy only after I'm gone. Wait a bit, won't you? He'll be up there all night."

"The sooner, the better. I'm thinking of heading out tomorrow morning, anyhow. That living-dead kid he'll be replacing is going to try and kill me once I let him go.." Someone else, vaguely familiar. Esmeralda heard a muffled jingle, and he continued. "Here. Your boy's worth a hell of a lot more than that, but-"

"I don't want your filthy money. I've got enough of my own. Just get up there and get that boy out of my life."

"Your loss."

More footsteps echoed through the cathedral, a door opened and shut, and the place was quiet again. Piecing things together in moments, Esmeralda stood and tiptoed around the pillar. She was scarcely aware of what she was doing, nor did she know how she'd go about it. But she found the source of the unfamiliar voice, a stout and scruffy man trying his best to look casual. He pretended not to notice Esmeralda, but this became remarkably difficult once she tapped his arm and began to cry.

"_What_? What d'you want?" he finally snapped after about a minute. Esmeralda adopted the look she always used when begging Ciro or her mother for something. It had always worked with them, and she was counting upon it now.

" I heard you were taking my brother away," she whimpered. The man stared down at her, eyes wide.

"_You're_ related to that thing?"

She nodded, sidling up to the man a bit, her green eyes in a wide, unbreaking gaze. "We keep him here because he's scared of people. But he left something at home-a toy-he doesn't like sleeping without it. Can I bring it to him? Would you wait for me?"

The man thought for a while, becoming uncomfortable with Esmeralda's creepy stare. He finally relented with a sigh. "Kid, if you want to bring him anything, you'd better _run_, fast, all the way there and back-" She was already gone, bare feet pattering on the cold floor until the door opened and shut again and she'd disappeared.

Esmeralda hoped _Notre Dame_ would forgive her, for lying, and for having stolen the small ring of brass keys he'd had fastened to his belt.


End file.
